


Unauthorized Disposal of Science or Sherlock, You Life Destroyer

by Noxtorious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 7+1 Things, Alternative Universe - Scientific Magical Realism, M/M, Sherlock isn't helping, johnlock challenges gift exchange, making up science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxtorious/pseuds/Noxtorious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew that the tea had tasted too funny to just dismiss as a second thought. Sherlock never thought of others, especially to make John a cuppa right when he got off work. Now look at him! He was some kind of freakish scientific marvel! When the detective stepped foot into the flat, it was going to be the last anyone heard of Sherlock Holmes. </p><p>or</p><p>Seven times that John fell to his newly gained animal instincts and the one time he was able to think clearly.<br/> </p><p>Written for toasterfish for the Johnlock Challenges Gift Exchange. Hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bitenomnom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitenomnom/gifts).



John covered a yawn with his hand as he walked up the stairs to the flat. It really had been a long day at the clinic. It was like everyone with a sniffle felt like they had to come in. He understood that it was flu season but this was ridiculous. Still, he was just glad to be home. Sherlock would probably still be bored with no case and force him to entertain him. Not that he wouldn't but he figured he could give his man child a little attention before going through a relaxing routine.

"Sherlock, I'm home."

John raised his an eyebrow at not getting an answer as he walked into the living room. Sherlock wasn't draped over the sofa like some kind of Victorian heroine. Well that wasn't too much of a surprise. He probably got a call from Lestrade about a case and headed off. He was just glad the madman hadn't told him to come along. All he wanted to do was take a bath, eat and squeeze in a nap (not necessarily in that order).

Sherlock must have left recently judging the still steaming liquid in one of the beakers. Divesting himself of his coat and shoes, he walked into the kitchen with tea on his mind. John hummed a tune to himself as he filled the kettle with water and prepared some toast. He busied himself with what he should spread on it when the sugar bowl caught his eye. The usual white cubes were gone and were replaced with a vicious blue liquid. That was strange and a bit annoying. That had been the last of the sugar. If Sherlock had dumped it and replaced it with honey again, he was going to make him buy more.

And not just 'give John money to go buy more'. No, the detective was going to into the store and buy it himself. He knew Sherlock loved honey and liked to spend money on getting rare types. It was one of the only things that Sherlock would leave the flat and physically go out to buy himself. The other things were science equipment and his clothes. This was probably some of the really obscure honey the man bought. Well, it wouldn't hurt to try some.

It wouldn't get Sherlock out of buying sugar but it would stop him from making him try it later on. John grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl, taking out a small bit to taste. He placed the spoon in his mouth and licked off the syrupy substance. It was strangely tart with an underlying sweetness that he couldn't place. Lemon? Blueberry? Either way it was appealing and left a slight tingling sensation in his mouth. It might be the only honey he would approve Sherlock of getting. He washed off the utensil and finished making his tea and toast.

If he was a little heavy handed on the honey, it wouldn't be the last time he indulged in something he liked. With his tea and toast in hand, John went to enjoy his quiet time in the flat. It was late into the evening when Sherlock came back home. John was walking out the loo, drying his hair from his bath when he saw him in the kitchen. The detective was standing in front of the counter and frowning at the sugar bowl. He didn't even break his examination when John pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"John, did you eat some of the substance in the bowl? A small portion is missing." Sherlock said as he turned to look at John.

"Yeah, I had a bit with some tea and on some toast. I'm a bit cross you threw the sugar out to put your expensive honey in. Why? Did you do something to it?"John asked.

Sherlock glanced at the bowl and pushed it to the side. John was going to be very cross with him. Well, even more than he was now. They had rules in the kitchen when it came to experiments and food. He had knowingly broken one of the rules while John was at work. He figured that he would have everything done before his lover came home but Lestrade had called with an interesting case. His silence seemed to make the smile on John's face go away. Oh, John was going to be very cross indeed.

"This isn't honey."

"Then what exactly did I eat, Sherlock? One of your experiments?"

"Actually, its a experiment from Mycroft's scientists so its not technically mine. They sent it and wanted to see what results I could get from it. His minions were testing DNA and how it stands up in various viscous liquids. It would be used to mix rare samples of DNA from subjects if successful."

John's expression turned from some anger to outright fury. He could even see that by the way his fingers flexed, wanting to turn into a fist. Sherlock figured that his options were very limited in how he could go about this situation. He could try to explain himself (which wasn't working) or make a hasty retreat. The retreat was sounding pretty good with the way John looked ready to haul and throttle him. He quickly crossed the retreat off the list when John backed him up and trapped him against the counter. He looked down at the furious glare directed at him. Now was not the time to find John's self-restraint fascinating.

"And what, pray tell, are the side effects? I need to know if I'm going to kill you if I don't wake up in the morning." John practically snarled in Sherlock's face.

Sherlock remembered the files the scientists had shown him along with his small number of notes he had taken down. It had never been tested on any living test subjects yet. He placed his hands on John's hips to try and maneuver him out the way. Obviously, John didn't budge. He stepped closer and grabbed fistfuls of Sherlock's shirt, giving him a hard yank down to his level. He had went quiet for too long again and John wanted an answer.

"Currently unknown. But, I've been told it shouldn't be life-threatening in theory."

"In theory."

"Yes. It hasn't been tested yet or even fully studied. I just received it today and Mycroft's minions had it only started the project a few months ago."

"Right. You're sleeping on the sofa. It'd be your fault if I'm dead. Good night."

With those angrily calm last words, John walked out the living room. Sherlock pulled himself away from the counter as he heard the bedroom door open and things (his pajamas by the sound of it) being thrown out. The door then closed with a slam, making one of picture frames on the wall rattle down the hallway. Well, that could have gone better than expected. Sherlock knew he couldn't ignore that John could have a nasty side effect. He couldn't throw out the substance (in case for a cure) and it was too interesting.

He took a deep breath and took a red marker out one of the drawers, making the sugar bowl with the customary red X that he used for experiments. John wouldn't be happy but it would stop anyone else from ingesting the dish. He placed it on top of the fridge before going to retrieve his clothes. At least John threw them out for the quite tension filled night he would have to endure. Not like he could look for a cure if John hadn't exhibited any effects yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repose: v. to lay/lie at rest

John woke up with sense of relief and let the tension drain out his body. That hadn't been the most relaxing sleep that he had had. He was even surprised that he had gotten asleep with the fear of whatever side effects could affect him. Being angry was always a tiring experience. He still couldn't believe that Sherlock would put his life in danger. They had just gotten lucky that nothing bad had happened to him. Though, he found himself much more tired than usual. He didn't have that hard of a day last night.

What was even stranger to John was all the sounds that he was able to hear. The sounds from outside were coming as clear as a bell and if he strained, he could even hear Mrs. Hudson making tea downstairs. That was crazy. Very crazy. Jesus, what if the stupid experiment actually did something with his hearing? He inwardly panicked at the thought of becoming disabled because of Sherlock's carelessness. He started to sit up and startled himself as he felt something brush against his leg under the covers. If Sherlock had came in and put something in the bed with him, he was going to destroy him.

Who does things to make their lovers even more furious with them? Taking a deep breath, John lifted the covers and was confused. Instead of being a snake or a feather duster (or something along those crazy lines), it was a tail. A fluffy blond cat tail. John rolled out the bed with a yelp when the tail twitched and rose off the bed. He tangled himself in the cover and winced at the sudden loud noises bombarding his ears. He clapped his hands against them to block the sound but it didn't go away. What? Why? It was then he could feel two slight weights on the top of his head. What the hell?

John tentatively reached up to see what was on his head and jumped when fur rubbed his fingertips. The panic he had been tamping down on came back full force. Oh god, what the hell did that experiment done to him? He scrambled out the covers and stumbled his way to the loo. He winced as the door slammed against the wall, the noise ringing in his ears temporarily stunning him. He waited for the noise to pass before looking at himself in full length mirror behind the door. John couldn't even stop his jaw dropping at his new altered appearance.

Tawny cat ears were on the top of his head, a shade brighter than his own regular hair. They reminded him of the Malayan that his grandmum used to have when he was younger. He carefully reached up and touched one now that he could see. He could feel it like it had always been a part of his body. It felt like someone was stroking a hand over his skin. He thought about flattening them against his head and gasped when it actually worked. Okay. That was slightly terrifying and reassuring. Obviously with these new ears, they took place of how his normal ears functioned.

That wasn't so bad. The new enhanced hearing would take some used to. He was already started to develop a headache from the noise. Movement caught his eye and brought him back to his, for lack of the word, new tail. It was swaying behind him in a lazy fashion, curling in on itself every so often. It was the same dishwater color of his hair and very furry to the point that it look a dandelion in some spots. Could he control that too? John tried to focus on it and managed to bring his tail to sweep the floor and raise itself high in the air.

He grabbed it with his hands and was surprised to find the fur like silk to the touch. It was much more sensitive than his new ears though. A careful downward stroke had his knees buckling and grabbing back onto the sink for support. John made a mental note to be extra careful about that. He knew he needed to tell Sherlock about this 'side effects' but he could feel tiredness weighing on his body. He'd tell Sherlock after a few more hours of sleep. That would be good. John walked out the loo, being conscious to keep his tail out the way as he made it back to the bed. Picking up the covers and fixing them, John found himself staring at the bed. Something wasn't right and it was niggling in the back of his mind.

Something that would make sleeping even better and relaxed. He looked around the room to see if he had forgotten something but found nothing. As if on auto pilot, John pulled opened the drapes to let the morning sunshine come through and warm the room. John's ears laid back and unconsciously let out a rumbling purr from his chest. Now everything was perfect. His whole body relaxed as he climbed into the bed and wrapped himself in the sheets. He found the spot on the bed with the most sunlight and curled up in a ball. His tail tucked around his legs as he fell back into a more restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has the features of two kinds of cats here. I wanted him to be a little bit different.
> 
> John would have the ears of a Malayan cat and the tail of a Burmill cat. I love it because it all fluffy and poofy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repose: n. A lack of activity.

Sherlock wouldn't admit that he was a bit worried. John had not come out the bedroom yet and it was already early afternoon. There were a lot of factors to put in as why he didn't come out yet. One, he was still extremely cross with him. Two, one of the prolonged side effects just happened to be tiredness. Or three, he was dead. He completely disregarded the last option as he remembered hearing the bathroom door open earlier in the morning. That left him with two factors. If was working with the former, John would not be too happy with him going into the bedroom.

That might put him in even more trouble than previously. For the latter, he could just leave John alone and wait for him to arrive. Ugh. It was already so boring without John. He flopped on his back as he spread out on the sofa and pulled out a few nicotine patches from his dressing gown's pockets. He put three on his left arm and took a deep breath as he waited for the nicotine to work into his blood stream. John would be fine. He would come out the room, he would ask for tea and John would try to be still angry, but then Sherlock would make him laugh and everything would be fine.

Sherlock closed his eyes and titled his head back, already having the scenario planned out in his head. He counted that at least another hour past until he heard footsteps from down the hall. He knew it was John but his gait sounded off. It wasn't the same when the limp would return in the lull between cases. Neither was it the same gait when he was tired from work. The steps seemed unbalanced like an added weight had been attached to John's legs. He frowned as he tried to work it out but nothing came to mind. It must have been some kind of dangerous side effect. At that thought rushing through his head, Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up.

John walked into the living room as he did and gave him quite a shock (not that he'd admit later on). John wore his short dressing gown and his night shirt but that was it. No pants or trousers to speak of. The cat ears on his head were twitching at the various sounds that could be heard. They would swivel in random directions, hearing things that Sherlock's couldn't. What made Sherlock peer over the couch was the fluffy cat tail apparently attached to John's backside. It was dragging against the floor but as if John realized, it would lift up again. Okay, he could admit that this was a pretty huge side effect.

It was already fascinating enough that a experiment could do this to people. It was amazing. He was filled with the urge to see how far John and the new appendages were connected. Were new bones created? Nerve endings? Regression to a primal state of mind? He needed to know it all. John seemed to still be half asleep and taking in his surroundings. Once his gaze landed on Sherlock, some of last night's anger seem to rouse up with him. John made a waving motion to his whole body and added a spin for emphasis.

"Proud of yourself, you tit? Look what's happened to me. I'm some kind of cat thing now." John said, not sounding too happy.

Sherlock leaned back into his seat as John came to stand in front of him. Now that he was up close, he could see at the new appendages were indeed part of John. Without asking, he reached around and grabbed John's new tail with a look a intrigue on his face. He ignored John's protests and ran through an examination in his head. The muscle was strong and with a glance to John's back, it was protruding from the base of his spine. He still wanted to do an x ray to just be sure. Sherlock let the tail twitch in his hand as he ran careful fingers over the fur in a petting motion.

John let out a mewling sound and quickly grabbed onto the back of the sofa as his knees started to give. That was new and surprisingly arousing. He looked up at John's face and was surprised to find a red flush over his cheeks. Oh, John's tail was a big erogenous zone. There must have been a bundle of new nerves hiding in the tail. Sherlock met John's gaze with a smirk and dug his fingers into the fur of John's tail.

"Sherlock! Stop that! How are you going to fix this?" John hissed as he snatched his tail out of detective's hands.

His face turned a nice shade of red as he curled his tail around his waist and ran into the kitchen. Sherlock bet John didn't think he saw how his cock thicken out from his examination. He was far from finished with his increasingly fascinating army doctor. John didn't realize how excited he was to start looking into his side effect. What other things had been effected? He was very tempted on not looking for a cure. A John with cat ears and a tail had to be the most adorable thing he had ever seen. So what if his mind had started to drift to some dirty places? He wondered if his ears were as sensitive as his tail.

"Interesting. Both parts are a part of your body. Can you hear out both ears? I want to get you a MRI and an x-ray as well. Your bone structure has changed. Any new cravings? Want to hunt prey? I noticed you slept later than usual." Sherlock said from his spot on the couch.

John whipped his head around to narrow his eyes at Sherlock. The idiot wasn't even trying to fix this! He wanted to study him instead. He let out a hiss that sounded distinctly like an angry cat as he went through making tea. At least he didn't see the stupid experiment that made him like this. Sherlock had had enough sense to move it somewhere. He was sure that if he had seen it, it would have went right down the drain. He was trying to find an upside to having such additions but he was not really finding any. How the hell was he supposed to get around?

"Sherlock, lets take one step at a time. I really don't have all the answers. But, no. I can only hear out my 'new' ears and I don't have any of those other things you described. You can treat this as an experiment," John rolled his eyes at Sherlock clapped his hands together, "If it works out in being a cure. Got it?"

"Yes. Yes. I'll call my fat brother to get you a private MRI and X-ray. Might as well do a whole physical to examine all the changes. Also, tea would be nice."

"Get it yourself. I'm still pissed at you for turning me into something out a children's telly show."

"Two sugars and a dash of milk, please."

John glared as Sherlock left the room while dialing Mycroft's number in his phone and muttering to himself. As usual, once that big brain got fixated on something, there was no use on getting to him. He instead went through the motions of making tea, pouring out tea into two clean mugs. He put the milk in Sherlock's tea and four extra sugars since he doubted he could get the man to eat today. Sherlock must have went and borrowed some from Mrs. Hudson since it was unlikely he went to the shop.

He picked up both cups and placed Sherlock's on the table as he went into the living room. He grabbed the newspaper and sat down in his favorite armchair. He frowned when sitting directly on his tail sent uncomfortable pain went through his spine.

It took him a few tries but realized that even after he let it drape over the side that it was uncomfortable. John drew his legs up into the chair and curled his tail around his feet. Mmm, that was a nicer position than he realized. No wonder Sherlock would sit in the same position sometimes. His ears twitched a few times in pleasure as he pulled his cuppa close and got ready to take a sip. He could smell the spices and tea leaves that was only faint in his once human senses. He could actually identify the spices if he concentrated. Closing his eyes as he took a sip, John immediately spat it out.

It was the most god awful thing he ever put in his mouth. What the hell? He never had any trouble with tea before. The experiment changed his taste buds too? God, Sherlock was going to be cut off from the bedroom forever. If he couldn't drink tea, he would have to find a new 'drink' of choice. With an annoyed sigh, John crawled out the armchair and back into the kitchen. He went to fridge and frowned at his options. Milk, beer, some raspberry-apple soda and some heavy cream that Mrs. Hudson had probably left up after baking them some biscuits.

For some reason he couldn't explain, he was drawn to the heavy cream. His mouth was already watering at the taste. John took it out and found a clean pot to heat it up in. He turned on the stove and waited for the cream to heat. But still, something was missing. What else could he put in it? John puzzled over it before snapping his fingers. It really was a good thing he did all the shopping. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out some vanilla, cinnamon and some nutmeg for extra spice. His tail swished in content behind him as he whipped up the drink.

He was preoccupied in his work that he didn't notice that Sherlock has come back and was observing him from the sofa once more. The cream mixture started to forth and bubble from the heat and John placed in his cup. Inhaling the smell of the sweet cream, John let out a happy sigh. He noticed that Sherlock had come back and felt like he needed to be close to his lover. He'd look into his new urges later but right now, he wanted to drink his cream and cuddled up to his destructive detective. Grabbing the newspaper along the way, John curled up next to Sherlock with his tail wrapped around his feet. He ignored the curious look and drank a sip of cream.

It was the best thing that ever crossed his lips and that was saying something. A purr left his lips as he continued to drink with one hand and reading the newspaper with the other. John was content and happy at the moment, not wanting to do anything but be right where he was. He didn't even acknowledge Sherlock draping an arm around his shoulder, reaching up to pet at his ears. The detective hesitated as they flattened close to John's head at his touch. Once they returned their original position, Sherlock rubbed the fur between his fingers. He enjoyed the purring noises that John wasn't even aware he was making. He couldn't wait to start on his experiment on John and how his new 'appendages' were going to affect their lives.

Finding a cure would come eventually after he finished cataloging John's side effects after all. They would be intriguing to work on after all. Sherlock had a few situations in mind already.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repose: v. to lie dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God! Has it really been this long? I'm bad at keeping this stuff up. But I vow to finish this if its the last thing I do. I can't leave this hanging. Especially since its a gift. RL is a pain in the ass.
> 
> But enough of my whinging, thanks for all the kudos and comments. It is really appreciated. In my opinion, there isn't enough cat!John to go around.

Sherlock was nearly bouncing on his toes at the prospects of a new case. John proved to be very fascinating over the past few days with his new additions. If his growing notes were correct, a part of John's primitive brain had been unlocked. He now had expressed the mannerisms and instincts of the domestic feline. The results had come back from Mycroft's people and John was concluded as a scientific marvel. The x-ray scans showed that John's new ears had all the functions of his human ears with the slight variations that came from felines. His spine had actually elongated to encompass the tail with the added nerves to act like a third limb. It was just as strong, possibly stronger than John's arms. But, that was touching the surface of what actually happened to John.

His doctor was not happy that apparent changes weren't finished since his body was still adapting to the foreign additions. He was going to have problems balancing for a while and the sensitivity of his new appendages would be extreme for a few weeks. Sherlock wasn't complaining about that since it was much more fun to scratch John's ears and hear him purr. Or, running a finger down his tail when he was making tea or reaching for something in the cabinets. John would yelp, knees buckle and his tail would puff up just like an angry cat. John would hiss at him and tell him to piss off. But how could he when John was making all those sounds unconsciously? He was begging for Sherlock to reach out and touch.

He wasn't anywhere near finished documenting John's new behaviors. It was much easier since they hadn't left the flat because the new additions. John had to call the clinic and quit until they figured something out (which was fine for him). One of the newest things about John was his sleep schedule thrown off. The army doctor no longer woke up at the crack of dawn. It would vary to super early in the morning or late in the afternoon, not to mention the naps littered out the day. He had found the oddest places to sleep which included Sherlock's armchair, on top of their desk and Sherlock's bedroom. John claimed that he couldn't give any reason as why those spots in the flat. He just shrugged and said it was the most comfortable.

It wasn't until the third day that Sherlock figured all the spots had optimal sunlight and warmth from the windows. Another thing how John would purr when he was pleased and (one of Sherlock's favorites) was finding very creative ways to drape himself over his body. It was more of Sherlock's thing to throw himself into John's space most of time. Crowding him up against walls and pulling his body into whatever position he wanted to be. Now, it was John who was dropping his head into Sherlock's lap or crowding him onto one side of the couch to curl up against him. John wouldn't say a word but his ears would flatten on his head and he would shove Sherlock for attention. And he was sure that John was going to do much more in the future.

The only thing that John possibly hated now that tea was not drinkable anymore. Cream was his choice beverage as his taste buds were much more sensitive now but Sherlock had to fend for his own tea. It was the only thing that he and John agreed on about disliking about the situation. Sherlock was not meant to make his own tea. That was strictly John's job. But, that was for another time. Now was the time to figure out a murder. It was rare he got dismemberment and had to actually look for the other half of someone. The idea of the chase was already enough fun. Their might even be a serial killer involved!

"Come on John! We have a case!"

Sherlock finished wrapping his scarf around his neck and turned to see John hadn't moved from his position on the couch. The doctor was draped over the couch on his stomach in some modified skinny jeans that Mycroft had sent over and his favourite striped jumper. His tail was swaying back and forth in a lazy fashion, reading one of his medical texts. His ears moved slightly towards Sherlock's voice but he still made no motion to move. Sherlock frowned and walked to the couch and stood in front of it. John was going to go on the case with him. He needed his medical expertise.

"I know you heard me, John. Lestrade called with a case. You have to come."

John looked up at Sherlock as his reading light was blocked and gave him a petulant look. A hiss left his lips as he flattened his ear against his head for a moment. Sherlock really couldn't think that he was going outside, did he? He might not be still pissed at him but how the hell was he going to hide his ears and tail? It wasn't like he could just walk out. People would think he was some kind of monster. It wasn't like the genius deleted how John got strong migraines from all the noise outside. His body still wasn't adapted to it as much as he would like.

"I'm not going. Unless you can pull some kind of disguise out of your closet to hide these", John gestured to his tail and ears, "Then you'll be going alone and have to explain to Lestrade why I'm not there. You love to text so much, text me details of the body."

Pushing Sherlock out his light with his tail, John went back to reading his book. He didn't notice the scandalized look on Sherlock's face but he started to get the prickly feeling of coming danger. He had no time to react as Sherlock dragged him off the couch, picking him up and taking him down the hall to the bedroom. He yowled and cursed Sherlock with all the anger of a pissed cat and the indignity of being picked up. Sherlock always wanted to use his strength and stature to his advantage when it was good for him. He beat on Sherlock's chest until he was dropped onto the bed.

"You git! Was that necessary?" John snapped as he quickly sat up and went to smoothing down his ruffled fur.

It was like second nature to do so whenever he was stressed. He watched Sherlock go to his closet and started to look through it. He threw things he deemed useless over his shoulder and onto the floor. He made a sound of triumph once he found what he was looking for. He threw some kind of weird black knit hat with strange cat like shape on the top and a heavy grey pea coat that seemed to be a size too big. Well, he guess it would work. If he wrapped his tail around his waist and kept the coat closed that is. Though it looked very much like a coat Sherlock would wear and he didn't want to think of the cost right now.

John did want to know where Sherlock even acquired a weird hat. He complained about the deerstalker all the time but this hat just seemed impractical. Catching Sherlock's gaze, he caught the idea that he should put it on. He'd ask where he got the hat later. Sherlock did come through and find a disguise. Kind of. He crawled off the bed and put on the hat first, more than surprised that it was a good cover for his ears and gave them to room to move. Next came the coat that was took a bit of configuring once he got his tail situated properly secured around his waist. He took a look at himself in the mirror and felt so out of his choice of clothing that he looked like a stranger.

Then again he might as well be with all the damn changes that he was dealing with the past few days. Well, it would work until Mycroft finished bringing him more clothes for his new appendages. Apparently his unshapely knit jumpers gave him the strangest urges to scratch and tear apart. 

"It works. So how do I look?" he asked, jumping slightly once Sherlock came behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

"Better. You should let me dress you more often, disguise or not. Your fashion sense is appalling. The grey brings out your eyes." Sherlock said as he met John's eyes in the mirror.

He let a small smile cross his lips as John tugged him down for a kiss. He went with it easily and pulled John closer to him, settling his hands on his hips. He hummed as he heard John's purring as he licked his mouth open and pulled away to breathe. John might still be upset with him not to have sex but the kisses were just as good. John was leaving a big part of his data unfilled by refusing to have sex with him. He was sure that as long as he kept doing his research and made sure John was happy, it would only be a matter of time. He pecked John once more before moving to the door.

"Now for the case. Come before Lestrade bothers me with wondering where we are."he said before sweeping out the room.

"You are the only person I know that can insult and compliment someone at the same time." John replied as he followed the eager detective.

The two made their way outside, Sherlock sticking his hand and as usual, a taxi pulling up to the curb. John had to be extra careful on getting in with his tail and making sure not to knock his hat off his head. The noises didn't overwhelm him like he thought, the hat muffling some of sounds. He squirmed to get comfortable and turned his gaze out the window. Sherlock stared at him from the corner of his eye as he gave the cabbie directions to the crime scene. He was actually excited about the case but he would also treat it like an experiment.

It was the first time they were going outside other than getting into Mycroft's undisclosed cars to go to his unmarked lab. He had no idea how John would react with people they actually worked with. Would they notice? He doubted it. The Yard officers were idiots on a good day. They would probably think John was having some kind of mid-life crisis or being forced to do something for another case. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock forced John to dress out the norm for a case. Though he figured he would have to be wary of Lestrade. The man was the least idiotic of the lot and could be very perceptive when he wanted to be. It especially seemed to be the case when it came to people he considered close friends. 

Still, it would be interesting to see how John's new instincts would react to being in environment not in Baker Street. Could his day get any better? A interesting murder and an ongoing experiment at the same time. He was practically giddy. Luckily, the ride to the scene didn't take long with it being early enough that traffic was manageable. Sherlock handed the cabbie the notes as John got out, waiting for him instead of walking right into the taped off house. He walked to his side and took in John's body language. He was nervous. He figured that would be a normal reaction. He could almost see his ears folding down under the hat. 

"Come along, John. I doubt anyone will notice. Besides, it has been at least two years since I've had a dismembered corpse."he said, pulling up the tape for John as he passed under. 

"Bit not good, Sherlock. Seriously. That's the most worrisome thing. How am I supposed explain my ears if my hat gets knocked off? Oh, don't worry about it. I'm going to party later and it's dress up." John said as he tried to ignore the words of the other officers as they passed into the house. He could hear every word loud and clear.

"Your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated. I need an assistant. You are that assistant. A physiological change to your person is not going to change that." 

"Which is your fault in the first place!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at those words, not even going to say that he was sorry again. He said it more than enough times in his opinion. He could feel the glare directed at his back, moving straight to the living room where he could spot Lestrade talking to Anderson. Great. That meant the man had probably ruined his crime scene. He greeted the detective inspector and completely ignored Anderson, more fascinated on learning something about the body in front of him. Well, the lack of body. The carpet of the room was a bloody mess with furniture turned over, cushions torn asunder and stuffing crunching under his feet. The naked lower half with blood covered feet of a male was partially under a end table.

It had to be a early birthday present. It looked to be a like a hastily made cut and he couldn't help it, clapping his hands together. He took out his pocket magnifier and started to go over what he could deduce about where the rest of the body could possibly be. While he did this, John stood off to the side near Lestrade and tried to blend in with the frankly tacky wallpaper. He shoved his hands in his pocket and wrinkled his nose the smell of blood. A new little trait decided to show itself and it was something he could rather not deal with. Gaining the heightened hearing was headache inducing but the slightly heightened smelling was going to make them worse. Last thing he really need right now. He wouldn't want nothing more than to just go home and curl up in his bed.

Or maybe on top of the desk by the window right where the wood would be still warm from the sun hitting it. Sherlock's stuff would just have to go on the floor. His tail threatened to unweave itself in delight at the prospect of a warm nap. He just managed to tamp down on the purr working its way out. It made him sound like he had choked on something.  

"What's with the getup? Giving in to Sherlock's demands about your clothes? Haven't hear from you in a few days."Lestrade said as he came to stand beside John. 

John felt an ear perk up towards Lestrade and gave him a quick grin. He was trying to avoid questions like that. He gave himself a quick look and made a mental note not to trust whatever was in his closet. Also, not to buy him any clothes that made him look like some kind of twenty year old. Those days were long gone. 

"A certain consulting detective ruined my clothes and had to provide me with some. Either that or you would have to deal with him without me. I wouldn't subject anyone to a Sherlock whose actually excited about a case." John explained, quickly thinking up a lie on the spot.

He even had to admit it was a good one for not being able to lie that well in the first place. With that out the way, he was able to catch up with Lestrade while Sherlock worked. He even ignored the usual tiff between him and Anderson, really not in the mood to get in between them. It was even as per usual that the man stomped out afterwards, glaring at him like he had been the one arguing with him. He wasn't even sure how he was going to react if dealing with confrontation when it wasn't his troublemaker detective. John really wasn't used to all the new instincts muddling his brain. The conversation was unfortunately cut short as Sherlock finished his examination.

"Your looking for a butcher that only deals in large animals, mostly cows and the occasional ox. He usually deals with the higher quality meat judging by the connective tissue from a tenderloin embedded in the hip. Not to mention only a butcher would have a machine that big to decapitate a full grown man. The man here was coming to settle some business deal that went awry and died from a head wound when hitting his head on the edge of the end table. Sharp enough. The man panicked and decided to get rid of the evidence but someone heard the scuffle and called you lot. He was probably getting ready to heat up the fireplace and burn the evidence. Not that it would have worked. A home fireplace can't get hot enough, especially one with a dirty chimney at that. You'll find the murder weapon and the upper half of the body in the basement."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock in slight awe and annoyance at the insult. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose for good measure. Anyone needed to for dealing with Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"Right. Good to know. One question. What basement? We checked this whole place and didn't find any downstairs." he said, exchanging a look with John to show he was thinking the same thing.

Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot and gestured a hand through the air. "The basement here! The man is obviously going to have one to house a bone cutting machine that size an-" He cut himself off as a very familiar look of realization came onto his face. He had just figured it out. It was so obvious. The man had just killed someone and wasn't going to go without a fight. The body still looked fresh and the blood wasn't even congealed yet. Depending on what time the police call was placed, the murderer wouldn't have time to flee the scene. 

Dropping onto the carpet (avoiding the obvious blood stain), Sherlock felt around for a loose piece of carpet to pull up. If he was right, there would be a door here. He was giving his deductions so fast that Lestrade could barely follow them. There was no use stopping Sherlock once he got going. He watched the detective pull up a large piece of carpet near the fireplace to revel a door with metal latch on top. Of course Sherlock was always right. 

"You can't find him because he's still here!" Sherlock said with his usual dramatic flair as he pulled the door open. 

What he wasn't expecting was a half crazed man wielding a large boning knife to come lunging out and aiming for his throat. It was only quick reflexes that saved him and the knife sliced across his chest, pain blooming in its wake. He staggered back into the nearest wall, holding the wound. He was aware of Lestrade shouting for backup but it wasn't needed. John had tackled the man to the floor with the sound of an very angry cat being attacked. He had never seen John move so nimbly, having pounced on the edge of the upturned sofa to launch himself at the man. They scuffled across the floor for control of the knife, the murderer cursing and John hissing like he was protecting his territory. Finally, John headbutted the man hard enough that Sherlock swore he heard a crunching sound and taking the knife from him and throwing it towards Lestrade. 

Putting a knee in the man's throat to subdue him, John looked pleasantly satisfied. You could even say that he looked like a cat who just finished killing off his prey. His ears were low, his tail curling in on itself and a rumbling hum like purr came from him. John didn't even realize that the very things he had been hiding came loose during the scuffle with the man squirming underneath him to be free. More pressure to his already cut off airway stopped it quickly enough as John started to 'groom' himself. It was the only way to describe it. He nuzzled his face into the crook of his elbow first before moving a slightly curled fist over it. He slowly moved it over his ears and hair to smooth them down with very precise circles.

Sherlock looked down to see his wound stopped bleeding before approaching John. This wasn't the most catlike behavior he had seen but it was at the top of the list. He could see that Lestrade was looking on in shock and to his annoyance, the other officers that had come to assist in subduing the murderer (which John had taken care of with ease). He was closing the distance when John gave him a proud smile, just like the one when they had finished chasing down a criminal and caught him. He gave a nod in return and saw that John was starting come back to himself. He could see when John's ears twitched towards the door that he figured it out. Then again, it wasn't like they were being quiet. 

"What the hell is on John's head?"

John looked mortified and uncomfortable but didn't get up from the murderer. He gave Sherlock an accusatory and panicked look for him to fix it. Sherlock couldn't help it as he rolled his eyes. He almost wished Mycroft would come in and declare John's condition classified government information (it technically was) to help. It was going to really long day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. composure of manner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person but for some reason, this keeps getting longer. I vow to finish this once and for all.

"This is all your fault, Sherlock." 

"My fault? How, pray tell, is this my fault? I didn't tell you to attack the man."

John glared at Sherlock from his chair in Lestrade's ofice. His new 'additions' were hidden once more but that did not stop the staring. He could feel the Yarders's eyes on him and hear their whispers. It was stressful and fustrating than anything. His new instincts were telling him to attack every person bad mouthing him. He just managed to tamp that down with years of skill. The other part he was struggling with was climbing into Sherlock's space and urging him to pet him. 

Part of him believed he earned a reward for taking down an agressive predator. Not to mention, he would never be able to live down what he did afterwards.

_"What the hell is on John's head?"_

_John wanted to disappear that very moment. The feeling was obvious as his ears tried to meld themselves to his scalp. It really was all Sherlock's fault. If he hadn't been all dramatic and always endangering himself, nothing would have happened. He was aware of Sherlock rolling his eyes and giving a lie of an experiment with some other nonsense._

_The only experiment that should be happening was looking for a cure. It was bad enough he had to fight his so called 'animal instincts' so he didn't embarrass himself. Again. He had let the Yarders come over to handcuff the criminal. But, his stupid 'animal instincts' had told him that he had done a fantastic job protecting his mate. His mate would want a gift from the predator to show he was proud of his fight. John had lost the battle between instincts, taking a blood splattered apron from the floor that was torn off during the fight._

_The noise in the room went into shocked slience as John pushed himself into Sherlock's space. He pushed the apron into the detective's chest and butted his head against his shoulder. John was distantly aware that his tail was held high in triumph. Sherlock might have become rather pink in the cheeks from John's behavior. He might have even looked mortified_ (not that he would admit it)  _and surprised at the behavoir. It was then John managed to snap out of it. He realized what he had done and could only bury his face in his hands, embarassed beyond words._

 _  
_"It just is. See if I ever step foot on a crime scene again."

This time, it was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. John was being overly dramatic. The Yard was full of idiots anyhow. He could tell that most of them bought what he said. Sherlock leaned back in his seat, already wanting Lestrade to hurry up and take their statements. John's behavoir had to be catalouged properly for future expermintation. He would never admit it but he was embarrassed by John's behavoir (though probably not to the same degree as John).

"They'll forget eventually. As stated earlier, you are my assistant and a physiological change will not change it." Sherlock said, picking at the gauze on his chest. 

John's tail smacked him in the back of the head. Sherlock muttered sometihng about childish army doctors, picking at the gauze again. He was stopped by John's tail wrapping around his wrist. John leaned over to check how the bandages were holding up, telling him to stop picking at it. To his clinical eyes, it was holding up nicely but he would check it properly once they were home. He released Sherlock's wrist but with a warning he would call Mycroft and report his notes to him. 

Sherlock glared at him like he had been betrayed. "You wouldn't."

John only gave a smile and fixed his tail into his coat. "Try me, love."

"Really, a lover's spat? Disgusting."

They looked up to see Lestrade was back with Anderson in tow. The man was only with him to collect samples from John for evidence. John fought back a hiss, wanting to punch the man in the face. Biting his face sounded even better in his head. A hand on his shoulder grounded him, making him look at Sherlock. The detective wouldn't let John get arrested for assulting a police officer, no matter how well deserved. 

Lestrade, on the other hand, told Anderson to just do his job. He wanted to hear the real deal of what happened to his friend. He didn't buy any of the bullshit Sherlock made up. Those ears and tail did not look like costume attachments. That didn't dismiss John's strange behavior either. For crying out loud, the man just hissed at Anderson like a cat. 

He could even see that Sherlock kept John quiet from doing something stupid. If he imagined it just right, he could see John in a pouncing position. It reminded him of a lion waiting in the bushes to attack. But, Anderson wouldn't let up on the insults. He kept talking about how wrong they were and the usual about the two being freaks. Sherlock threw his own quips back but seemed more focused on John.

Anderson didn't notice the muderous look in John's eyes as he took his samples. Maybe it was why no one was prepared for John's actions when his mouth was going to get swabbed. Once Anderson's hand got close, he clamped his teeth down in a bite. 

"John!" Sherlock was the first to react as Anderson tried to pull his hand back. 

John wouldn't release his grip. He sunk his teeth in deeper, blood starting to well up through the glove Anderson wore. Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and finally managed to tug him off. John kept growling at Anderson who backed up, holding his hand in pain. It took him and Lestrade to hold the army doctor back from attacking again. 

"Go get checked out, Anderson. He's not going to let up until you leave!" Lestrade said, blocking the path to Anderson with his body. 

Anderson looked horrified enough to scurry out the office as quick as possible. Lestrade watched John calm down, sinking down into his seat and leaning on Sherlock. He seemed to not notice the blood on his lips. Lestrade wanted the real explaination now.

"Okay, what the bloody hell is going on? I want the real story and then you better get out of here." Lestrade said seriously. 

He was very glad that his blinds were down to give them privacy. He was going to have to come up with something to explain the comottion. Lestrade didn't understand how both of them made extra paperwork for him. John seemed to come back to himself, looking somewhat horrified and amused. He grabbed the handkercheif Sherlock handed him to him to wipe the blood out his mouth. Lestrade did deserve to know the story from the debacle at the crime scene and him attacking Anderson. 

John couldn't help but sigh. "It's Sherlock's fault. He left a stupid experiment in the wrong bowl on purpose," Sherlock rolled his eyes with a huff, "I ate some of it and this what happened."

"Truthfully, its more of your own fault. I didn't tell you to eat experimental DNA that happened to look like honey." Sherlock protested, wincing as John punched him in the shoulder. 

"You didn't use the right container!"

Lestrade watched the two argue in disbelief. Of course, it always came down to Sherlock. He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself for patience. 

"All right, enough! I get it. I'll call you when there's a case. I suggest you two get this situated quickly. I'll attempt to calm Anderson down before he sues the both of you."

The two nodded and stated to make their way to the door. John said he would call him for drinks and apoligized for everything. He waved it off, watching Sherlock drag John out the Yard. Lestrade made his way to his desk, sitting down with a groan. It was like wherever the two went, trouble seemed to be right behind. How the hell was he supposed to explain that a man with cat parts helped take down their supects without sounding crazy? John owed him big time.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a really fun thing to write and really hope its enjoyed. 
> 
> My fun little challenge prompt was: “Repose has several definitions."
> 
> The rest of the chapter should be up soon.


End file.
